


rules of politeness

by roboticake



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: (kinda), Awkwardness, Fluff, It's hard to tag a ficlet istg, M/M, poor Napoleon lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 10:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11228757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticake/pseuds/roboticake
Summary: Napoleon is polite, unless it's about Illya.(or, Illya's training attire is... unusual.)





	rules of politeness

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Règles de Politesse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265531) by [EastDuquesne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EastDuquesne/pseuds/EastDuquesne)



> Based on an ask I had a couple of months ago. Enjoy !

Napoleon is a man full of manners. He believes in proper etiquette and social rules, and while he bends them just a little to fit his kleptomaniac tendencies; he mostly respects them around anyone, mission or not. Waverly gets this tiny, little nod when they see each other; an acknowledgment for the man who saved Napoleon from the CIA hell he was thrust into. Gaby gets a warm hug and a smile, because everyone loves her (and everyone knows exactly how terrifying she can be).

Illya... Illya doesn't get anything from Napoleon. Sure, they greet each other, but otherwise... Nothing.

They don't hate each other, or at least, not anymore. Their numerous missions together, after the whole Vinciguerra affair, have been bonding them with trust and fragile friendship. It’s just that neither Napoleon nor Illya need this form of politeness between them. It's strange, against the perfect gentleman image that Napoleon loves, but feels natural enough.

And so, head ducked in the file of their upcoming mission, Napoleon barges into Illya's room without much of a thought. He doesn't knock, doesn't really announce himself –Illya can probably hear him from wherever he is– and sits down on the first ottoman he encounters.

“Peril,” Napoleon says absentmindedly, eyes focused on the text. “Have you seen this ?”

He snaps the file shut, raises his arm to show Illya what he is talking about, but stops dead in his tracks.

Illya is leaning against the door frame of the bedroom, arms crossed, and shamelessly _naked_.

“Oh,” Napoleon says, trying to not eye at the other agent's groin, and failing miserably. Turns out that _everything_ is big with Illya. The American recovers quickly, and mutters, “Sorry. I didn't know you had company.”

“I don't,” Illya grunts. He doesn't say “ _and you know it_ ”, but the way he rolls his eyes translate quite well his thoughts.

Since they do not need to be polite with each other, Napoleon can pointedly stare at the fluffy rug as he talks, instead of looking at Illya's face and very naked body. He flushes.

“Why are you …?” Napoleon asks, but his voice is high pitched and ridiculous and he has to try again, after clearing his throat. “Why are you...?” he repeats.

While his voice is firm and steady, he still can't bring himself to state to obvious. 

Illya snorts. “I am training, Cowboy,” he says, making Napoleon blink. Then he adds, as if it makes more sense, “It is hot here”.

Under normal circumstances, Napoleon would have made a joke about _him_ being hot. This situation isn't anything close to normal, though, so he doesn't. He just gapes and tries to not stare, shifting uncomfortably on the ottoman, and praying any existing deity to have mercy on him. 

Maybe it's karma, but Napoleon doesn't get any mercy. Illya is raising an eyebrow and eyeing the tent of his pants, and Napoleon is thinking that he didn't even write his will when the other man strides to him.

For a couple of seconds, Napoleon is pretty sure he is going to die, killed by a naked Russian spy with his crotch right in front of his face. Easterners, as most of the world, aren’t very tolerant about homosexuality, after all.

And Illya isn't known to be tolerant about _anything_.

Still, the blonde doesn't strike. He seems deep in thoughts, makes the same face when he is assessing a situation and coming up with a plan; and then, Napoleon hears a careful, whispered, “Want to join me?”

Napoleon's mind goes blank.

He nods frantically.

“Yes,” he breathes. “ _Yes_.”

Somewhere in his mind, Napoleon knows that accepting an offer with too much eagerness isn't very polite.

But good thing he doesn't need to be polite, isn't it?

 


End file.
